


Bottleneck

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [18]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Buckle Up Kids We're Driving Into A Feels Sandstorm, Denial, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Podfic Welcome, Rape Culture, Warboys dealing with a post-Joe world, Worldbuilding, briefly morsov, difficult conversations, implied past Immortan Joe, implied past organic mechanic, the citadel is an awful place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bottleneck: A crack with converging sides. Good for placing tapers or other passive protection.</i>
</p><p>Ace knew, knowing his men, that Kompass and Rachet have been trying to come to terms with the knowledge that their Imperator really did mean to sweep them off her back like sand flies. He saw their hesitance around her when she looked away from them, their uncertainty when there was nothing immediate to be done like bracing her or getting food or drink. When they look at her, Ace knew that they still saw the sandstorm barreling at them, knowing they weren’t protected from it like Joe’s ex-wives had been. Those women they’d been replaced with. </p><p>He knew they were braced for another storm, because he was too. Ace couldn’t get the memory of her face in that War Rig out of his mind, as he’d kept askin’ her and askin’ her, and how he’d be completely unable to read anything on it but determination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottleneck

It's well into the evening when Kompass and Rachet return. Ace had spent the day still trying to digest what the Boss told him last night about the Organic Mechanic and Joe, still sickened and furious in turns. His chest feels tight with more than his injured ribs. It's like he's an engine trying to work his way through a batch of filthy guzzoline. His filters need a good cleanin'.

Furiosa has slept, interspersed with brief moments of complaining about sleeping. She's exhausted from her ill-advised expedition earlier, so he'd just hummed indulgently and covered her back up with the blankets she'd flung away irritatedly.

Austeyr has stayed by her side for most of the day, her body seeking the closeness of somebody against her, and Austeyr happy to oblige. Ace envies the younger man the uncomplicated gladness of being welcomed by her. Austeyr had fallen long before the storm, long before the dawning realisation that the Boss really wasn't going to stop. He knows of the betrayal, now, but it is a much more distant thing to him. He had feared she would not want him back on her crew, and is relieved that she did even if the lancer still looked at her sometimes like he’s continuously surprised.

Ace knew, knowing his men, that Kompass and Rachet have been trying to come to terms with the knowledge that their Imperator really did mean to sweep them off her back like sand flies. He saw their hesitance around her when she looked away from them, their uncertainty when there was nothing immediate to be done like bracing her or getting food or drink. When they look at her, Ace knew that they still saw the sandstorm barreling at them, knowing they weren’t protected from it like Joe’s ex-wives had been. Those women they’d been replaced with.

He knew they were braced for another storm, because he was too. Ace couldn’t get the memory of her face in that War Rig out of his mind, as he’d kept askin’ her and askin’ her, and how he’d be completely unable to read anything on it but determination.

When the other two return from Tenday it's with thunder in their steps.

"Ace," Kompass says, and his tone is simmering with a shocky sort of distance maybe - Ace isn't sure, but the Wastelander looks up in alarm, and Ace knows immediately that this isn't going to be a conversation for in this room.

He sighs and struggles to his feet.

"Austeyr, come with us." Kompass says, and it’s with a regret and a reluctance that has Austeyr moving with hesitance.

Ace tries to ignore his sinking suspicions as to the topic of conversation (it can’t be what he automatically thinks it to be, can it? how could they have found out?) as he stares at the Wastelander for long seconds, trying to judge if it's safe to leave him alone with the Boss. He remembers the care the feral had taken with her earlier in the day, the concern in his face. Figures it'll be okay for a short time.

"You," he gestures to one of the two pups who stand guard outside her door. "Stand here. You hear anything, or she stirs, or somebody comes for her - you come get me."

 

There's an empty Imperator's room a few doors down; there are probably more empty rooms on this level, but this one's door is open, so they claim it for the moment. Rachet is full of restless energy, but Kompass is quiet and stiff in a way that makes Ace brace himself.

"They say— the breeders, they say—" Rachet bites out, but then seems to choke down the rest of the words, as if they'll become real when he says them out loud.

"That there was never any treasuring," Kompass finally grinds out. "Said that Joe was— that he hurt them," and he looks queasy from Ace’s long experience with the man, "Hurt the Boss."

Ace sucks a breath in and nearly chokes on it.

Kompass leans against the wall as he says it, shoulders stiff and gaze turned inward, but Rachet stares at Ace, and he can feel the desperate hope. They want him to deny it. They must already know it to be true, but he, who knows the Boss best - or had always thought that he did - can say the words they want to hear.

"What do you think?" Ace says.

Rachet stares at him in mute anger, as if he's betraying them all by not denying it.

"Remember when Axle asked how the Immortan had touched her, so we could do that for her?" Austeyr speaks up suddenly. Ace looks at him, surprised that he even spoke, that he’s even contributing to this conversation.

Kompass and Rachet nod slowly. Furiosa had gone pale and cold, and wordlessly sent them all out of her quarters.

"It was an insult to think we could even match—" Kompass begins.

"I thought she was going to hurl," Austeyr interrupts and Kompass’ mouth snaps shut. “Would she look like that if she’d been missing him with fondness? Or would she look like that if she’d dreaded him and the memories?”

Yeah, Ace remembers that, how upset the crew had been at her anger, at how she hadn't wanted to see any of them for days. The lancer is right, and always did seem Eyes On when there’s any sort of crew conflict, but how did he pick up so quick and off so little when Ace… It took her telling him. Ace is fairly sure Furiosa didn’t have the time nor the clarity to have the sort of conversation again with Austeyr. And when Ace measures the warboy’s face, he seems shocky with his own words, as if the idea is new to him too. It’s not a comforting realization.

Ace feels sick with knowing now how completely alone Furiosa must have been with her upset. That had been the burden of her lie of omission. When she'd first been ordered into the vault as protection for the wives, Ace had been dismayed on her behalf. He'd been sure the Immortan had meant well but it so clearly pained her to be in that place, to be reminded of what she'd lost. Or that’s what he’d thought at the time. She had come back out cold and still, the first few times, but after that she no longer seemed so burdened by her duty, and he'd been both glad for her and surprised. He understood now that she must have talked to the wives, must have made connections with people who shared this part of her. The widows understood a part of her that nobody else, not even her Ace, could know.

(An Ace was supposed to know _everything_. Be the second, the confidante, the person the Imperator could build upon. The link between the crew and the Imperator, and the other way around. The role hadn't existed, before Ace became Furiosa's. Other Imperators had picked an Ace for themselves, trying to imitate the success of their crew, and Ace had become The Ace.)

(He'd been so proud of that, and his chest feels tight at the thought that none of it was true.)

(Maybe he was never her Ace at all.)

Kompass looks like he’d be struck by Austeyr’s words but Rachet only becomes frustrated.

“How would she even look like _what_?” Rachet bursts out, “she’s so—” he makes a vague gesture at his face, “even more than most!”

“Did she seem like she lingered around us before she went to meet Joe and came back quick?” Austeyr shot back. “That she seemed different when she came back from the Vault and those wives?”

Rachet averts his eyes, pointedly ignores it and tries a different angle, “The breeders, they, they seemed so angry though. How could that be _nice_ to be around? How could they be right?”

“It’s nice being angry around people who are angry at the same things you are,” Kompass mutters.

“And you don’t have to be nice to be right.” Ace blew out a breath, fingers pinching the top of his nose, thinking of how the wives looked at him so wary. Wonders if they had a point.

“But it makes it easier,” Rachet protests.

“For _who_ , though?” Ace asks him, wondering how much of Furiosa’s lie was because she couldn’t show the true depth of her rage to him. Wondering how much of her trust in him was riding on such a creaky chassis.

‘ _For us_ ,’ hung in the air. But, this wasn’t about them.

They all looked at each other and shifted uneasily.

* * *

 

"Remember what we'd do after she'd have to report to Joe?" Kompass says, speaking up into the quiet.

Waiting for the boss, they'd gotten into the habit of all cramming in on one table in the mess. She'd always picked a spot at random between two of the crew, ignoring the place they left open for her until they stopped bothering. Kompass and some of the others had spent any amount of time trying to discern a pattern in her choice of seating. Was it to honour specific members of crew with her presence? Did she get tired of sitting in certain places? Did she want to talk to the men at that part of the table?

But she'd hardly ever spoken, just wedged herself between two warboys and quietly followed the conversations around her. They had always thought that she was sad, after meeting the Immortan in person. Remembering the attentions, the luxuries now denied to her.

This was the first time Kompass looked back on that often-repeated ritual and wondered if she'd been seeking _shelter._

"Always reminded me of—" Austeyr shakes his head. "She sat by me once, and I remember… I wondered… now I think that she acted a lot like she did in the Blood Shed."

Ace looks up sharply, as if he'd found a wheel on the ground. “The Organic Mechanic, he—" Ace set his jaw, “we had a system for ‘im.”

The others nods. Kompass finds himself with a sinking feeling, not liking where this was going.

"Ever think on why that was needed?"

"Otherwise she'd leave, right?" Rachet says. "Needed to make sure she stayed. Got better." He paces around, rocking occasionally from heel to toe, running fingernails up his arms.

"First time I brought her to 'im, the Mechanic said— he acted like—" Ace looks like he was reaching for tools, sightless. "Like she was salvage he'd found."

"She was scared," Austeyr says in a low voice, eyes on the floor. Ace felt disloyal hearing it, and not speaking up in defense. It wasn't something you were supposed to say about anyone, let alone the Boss. "Saw her wake up once, on the ledge. She was scared of Organic."

"Shut up, boofhead," Kompass growls shoving at Austeyr. "Boss would grab 'im by the throat and shout at 'im when any of us were hurt."

“Not _scared_ ,” Rachet bursts out simultaneously, sudden and loud, fingernails tight against his own arm, “No one liked Organic, he’d just— you can’t say—”

"Yeah, but—" Austeyr catches Kompass' wrist before it could shove him again and just holds it a moment in a firm squeeze, nails digging in, until the man drops it. He glares at Rachet until he shuts up. "How about when she was hurt _herself?_ That was different. She was scared of 'im, that was _fear._ When she couldn't—"

"—fight back," Ace supplies, face stony and distant. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the wall, watching them, face tight.

“She _wasn’t_ afraid,” Rachet insists stubbornly.

"Remember when Sump was flamin' out and the Boss made sure one of us were with him 'till the end?" the old War Boy asks.

"I thought that was just to make sure he was Witnessed," Austeyr muses, settling back down out of confusion.

"Sump wanted someone there. Not like he wasn’t going already and sometimes Organic'd do things that—” Rachet swallows, “wouldn’t help repair him anyway."

"Boss says being with Joe was like bein' sick and on the ledges at night." Ace says quietly.

Kompass and Rachet looks puzzled, but Austeyr’s already nodding.

"Scared an' helpless an' hurtin'," he agreed.

"When she was his _Treasure_?" _That still seemed unbelievable,_ Kompass thought. _Who'd mistreat somebody like the Boss?_

"Says there was no treasurin'. Just Use."

Kompass looked around uneasily. These were Imperator Nitreous' quarters. He edged away from the bed.

The Boss had never Used them like other Imperators made Use of certain of their crew, but they’ve seen enough and heard enough from other crews to know what it was like. Nothing like what they had done in her quarters. If the Immortan— if Joe— their _Boss_ …

_"Boss, won't you please tell us how the Immortan used to touch you, we know we can't be as good, but just so as we might try to do our best?"_

No wonder she hadn't looked at any of them for days.

All the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room. Kompass feels like there’s too much energy under his skin, overclocked and ready to go and shredding his engine by staying still. He knows there were a lot of thoughts he needed to think, but he couldn't process any of 'em right now.

“She _wasn’t_ ‘scared and helpless’,” Rachet grits out.

“ _Why’d_ you keep saying she wasn’t afraid?” Kompass shouts at him in frustration, because his memory is starting to click into place, how her unknowable faces suddenly seemed to gain meaning.

“Because then _we all_ were!” Rachet yells, spittle flying, pushing up into Kompass’ face, “You don’t get it, you run strong.” Gestures at Austeyr, “he runs tall. If you’re not, or your engine’s running down, the Mechanic he—”

They stare at Rachet. He rocks back on his heels and looks away, mouth working silently with the belated realization of what he’d just admitted.

“It’s not fear,” he finishes, stubbornly.

The silence is very loud.

"...is that why... " Kompass says slowly, all thought wiped from his mind at the implications, "She brought us up to her quarters after runs?" He has to _move_ , and he gets up, pacing. _This was too much_ , the idea that she was afraid even if she didn't want to say so, that she’d somehow protected them from the Organic Mechanic; someone they’d respected as an authority on how to keep their half-lives running as long as they could. Someone that you wouldn’t, shouldn’t, need protection from and—

That none of them realized they were being protected thinking that she’d simply wanted them for Use or suchlike when that was possibly the farthest thing from her mind. Why would she even protect _them_ , they were supposed to be there for _her_ protection; no War Boy’s life or safety was worth than an Imperator’s. The idea threw him as if bodily, off a moving Rig, and he didn’t know where he’d land.

He looks to Rachet, at the one he’d chosen to save from the sandstorm, and tries not to wonder at when it happened that someone hadn’t been fast enough to whisk him away from the Mechanic. Or hadn’t cared enough for the effort. Or had thought that the Organic Mechanic would never do such a thing. Wondered if Furiosa had known or just.. suspected.

"But if she avoided the Mechanic like Joe— I thought she missed him. _You said she missed him!_ " Rachet bursts out, interrupting Kompass' thoughts.

"I believed that," Ace said, obviously trying not to show his shame at having been so wrong. "I think she needed us to believe that. It was the only way she could want to spend time with us," Ace said, "By giving us a reason not to talk to her about Joe."

They all stared at each other silently. Rachet’s eyes in particular flickering, hurt and shocked as the implications hit him.

He was the one that finally broke and stalked towards the hallway. Paused, hand on the stone edge of the exit, "Why weren’t you _right_? The first time. Why did you say… Why didn't she _tell us_?"

"Would you," Ace said, turning to Rachet, "would any of us, have been able to Hear her?"

The younger War Boy’s face crumpled up and he crashed out of the room at the question, quick footsteps echoing down the tunnels.

“Even if _we_ couldn't know, you were supposed to be her Ace," Kompass shoved away from the wall. "An Ace is supposed to be— How could she call you her Ace if she didn't tell you?"

And Ace couldn’t answer him because he didn’t know himself.

Kompass lets out a growl of frustration once he reads it off his face, and whips around to kick at a bucket, sending it across the room. He heads down the tunnels in the opposite direction.

Austeyr walks up to him.

Ace only knows because he watches his feet approach. He braces himself, and then meets Austeyr's eyes with difficulty.

But the younger man just says, “Let’s… let’s get back to the Boss?”

So they do.

* * *

 

Kompass as he walks blindly down the tunnels kept trying to remember the words to the song he remembers the tune for, he wants to know the shape of the words and to say those words and for it to be loud enough for the woman to hear them, to turn to him and… and something. He doesn’t know what. Listen, maybe. Instead of flinching away from him. He thinks he’d have wanted her to listen.

He wants to talk about how the silvery marks on Furiosa’s belly shouldn’t exist, damage that no war boy was able to prevent, damage that—

That Joe caused.

He is glad Joe is dead if only because he doesn’t know how he would react in front of him.

He remembers that initial conversation he and Rachet’d had, with Joe’s widows, and wants it not to have happened. (“That’s just ‘cause you weren’t _worthy_.”) He cringes at the thought that what he said— he'd needed so badly to believe that the Boss was different, special, hadn't been treated that way. But if the Boss was worthy of being treasured, really treasured (and she _was_ , how could she not be?) and instead hadn't been, then all of Joe’s past breeders, they were all worthy. And if Joe hadn't treated them right, hadn't treasured them—

That meant Kompass had spent his entire life looking up to an Immortan, a— a man, he would have kicked out of the Boss's quarters without a thought. Dragged off of her and none-too-gently put outside her door.

His hands twitch, want to go up and make a V8 symbol, and he clenches them into fists, drops them.

How could it be that Joe had been so good for the Warboys, given them rations and clothing and even a special Aqua Cola tap in the barracks - given them a mission in life, a way to make their half-lives count. How could Joe have been that Immortan, but also the one who had hurt the Boss, hurt his wives?

He wants that conversation with the widows not to have happened. Wants to have it again. Wants to have it better.

All this time they'd worked so hard to be worthy of the Immortan's esteem. And it turns out—

The fixed point they've all been navigating by was never—

("Joe never gave a hand full of sand about making us feel good.")

He wants to have heard the widows properly, but the whole thing claws up his insides and he wants it just to stop. He’s not sure anything he’s been doing the past couple days has been helping at all, if he should have even tried talking to the groups, to the blackthumbs, the greenthumbs, the Fixer, and at the Tenday, and after; he’s not sure if he’s wrecked it for Furiosa or for Ace, or for… for that breeder that might’ve been his sister (and he didn’t even get her _name_ ) for any of them.

He wishes Morsov were here, that Kompass could've gone to Valhalla in his stead. Morsov got to have his chrome death, as historic as anybody could wish for, and never had to know about any of this. Never had to think about how much he'd failed the Imperator, about how Joe— about Joe. Morsov's just feasting in Valhalla (and with everything Joe ever said now in doubt, is Valhalla even— no, he can't think about that).

Morsov woulda done it better. Sprocket, too, he always were great at talkin' to people. Kompass wonders suddenly if Sprocket had known about the Boss. He'd been close to her, maybe even closer than Ace.

He slides his thumb up the ragged upraised scar on his arm, ending on the N at the top, and wedges his thumbnail under a familiar bit of flesh.

(. _..once gave me a compass without North_ )

He digs in.

* * *

 

When Rachet had found himself thrown from the Rig, he knew that he had to start rolling, that when he hit the ground he’d better let it hit as much of himself as possible because if it only hit one place then that place would break. He knows this like he knows how to tell colors apart, how to aim a lance even with his relatively thin arms, and how two things can fit together to make something new, and how to see where the guns are in a room and where it’s safest to stand, and _Kompass, stand down, the old women have guns, Kompass stop yelling._

It’s not his place to say such things, but he can think it.

He remembered that moment, just three days ago, when they’d entered Furiosa’s room and there were Joe’s prized breeders there and two old women and Furiosa and the Boss looked about to fall over and Rachet knew she was all Kompass had been looking at, because there was nothing else in the room doing the Boss harm except her own stubborn self.

But Rachet had seen both of the older women with guns and the guns had been moving and Rachet had been prepared to throw himself between them because he knew his rank and it was less than Kompass’ and Furiosa’s both, what if a stray bullet hit the Boss as well? Better the bullet settle in himself.

It’s not like he didn’t know how to take one. He’d remembered being in the practice yard and suddenly a sharp and sudden pain in his side, he’d glanced down at where he’d bled and then mentally drew the path the bullet must have taken. Two imperators were by the munitions, one was quickly handing off a gun to a nearby warboy, calling it faulty, the Imperator Prime was berating that same warboy for not taking better precautions, that warboy looking confused and upset.

And then the pain hit.

The next couple days were a haze of hurt and terror and flashes of memory, fingers digging around under his skin and then metal on metal as the bullet were removed, hands pressing down his shoulders and hips as he tried to rear away, a possessive finger knuckling down the curve of his head that he’d wished to flinch from but he couldn’t move and something was making his blinks slow.

Slow.

When he was next lucid, the ceiling of the Blood Shed came into focus, the distant sunlight piercing down blue and cold. There was a line rising up from his arm. A war pup was next to him, he’d stopped patting the blood bag and mouthed the words, _oh, you’re awake._

Like they were afraid to make a sound.

There were some other war boys next to Rachet, calling out to each other and challenging each other to stay awake. The Organic Mechanic was working on them and he was moving through them at a decent pace. There was an older war boy nearby, heavily muscled, looming, watching, and Rachet had never seen one so old before and he thinks this must be the infamous Ace from Furiosa’s crew. That must mean these injured were crew, too.

“You will be finished soon.” A new voice spoke up, higher-pitched for all that it was a command and not a question. And the Imperator herself stepped from the shadows, forehead dark and machine arm shining.

“Always in such a rush,” the Mechanic drawled, mouth sliming, “y’sure you don’t want a tune-up yourself?”

The Imperator had just given him a flat glance and melted back into the shadows as the older war boy stepped in close and somehow increased his looming. The Organic Mechanic glanced at him silently, and sped up.

The moment he was done, Furiosa appeared again with several more war boys as they lifted up their crew and followed her.

“Have a bloodbag sent to my rooms,” she ordered, “I can take care of the rest.”

“Seeing to them yourself? Smart of you, to learn from my ministrations.”

Rachet squirmed at something in the way the Mechanic had said the words.  He watched as Furiosa’s jaw grew tight and she turned away from the man in clear dismissal, drawing her crew to her with a tilt of her head as she swept from the healing ledges. But before she’d left, Rachet had met her eyes.

They were deep and unknowable as he’d stared at her, eyes large, and in that moment he’d known he’d wanted to be on her crew. He’d wanted to be taken away from this place as well.

But she’d broken eye contact and simply moved on.

Rachet understood, she could only take what’s hers. That’s why war boys favored pockets, to keep everything precious close, to make sure what’s yours stayed yours.

“Now that we have some time, let’s see about you, then, shall we?” the Mechanic murmured and set his hand familiarly on on his waist.

(And sometimes close was not close enough.)

Rachet comes back to himself, sitting against a wall in the room with the altar, threading the piece of cloth Miss Toast had given him through his grip, over and over. The feel of the weave of the cloth as it passed through his fingers was soothing, grounding, kept him here.

It’d kept him even as he thought about how he’d finally managed to get on the crew and it’d felt like taking the first breath in a very long time. How he could sit with this or that crewmember on the healing ledges and pull them away from there, or be pulled, and no one would question it because Furiosa’s crew was different. How, the very rare times that the Boss herself ended up needing a repair, that he could look at her on the ledge and understand her exactly. (like knowing how a lance would fall, knowing how a bullet will fly, knowing how a nut and a bolt fits together)

But he hadn’t, had he? Furiosa had looked like that coming out of meetings with Joe, and Ace had said— had said that it was because she’d _missed_ him.

And Rachet had clung to that. He’d clung to it, and repeated it and. Left her there, alone on her own ledge, as if she wasn’t crew.

He stared at the fabric as it ran through his fingers and he thinks mutely to himself that it’s a cleaner piece than what Furiosa wore for her top, but it’s clearly the same material.

Fabric designated for Joe’s wives.

He balls it up and sticks it back in a pocket, and tries to find something else to fiddle with, but finds nothing.

He pushes off from the wall.

 

* * *

 

Max had drifted off after all the War Boys left the room, but jolted awake at the sound of soft, painful, rasping coughing.

He hadn't expected to sleep, but judging by the light he'd managed a while. He blinked for a moment at being trusted alone with Furiosa, given the way the others were protective of her. Max saw her whole body convulse with the effort of suppressing a cough, so he slid off the ledge and went to her. Her eyes were wild, and her hand fastened on his arm the moment he came into reach.

"Sit up?" he murmured, but she was already pulling on him, trying to lever herself upright. He slid his hands under her upper back and gently helped her into a half-sit, stroking her back to help ease the spasming.

When the awful, wracking coughing finally faded he made to lower her again, but her nails dug into his arm.

"Stay like this?"

She was still struggling to catch her breath after the coughing, but she squeezed his forearm hard, and he positioned his own body so she could lean back against his torso. She made an approving sound, her breathing coming a little easier. He idly stroked at her shoulder slowly feeling her body relax.

Then she fell asleep again. Max shook his head ruefully, because he should have seen that coming. He shifted a little, putting his back against the ledge and settling his leg more comfortably, and resigned himself to the idea he'd be sitting there for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Bottleneck: a point of congestion or blockage, in particular. A narrow section of road or a junction that impedes traffic flow. A situation that causes delay in a process or system.
> 
> The song Kompass is thinking of refers is Prinz Pi's Compass Without North, found at the bottom of the previous part in Epic.
> 
> [The way the Organic Mechanic reached out to Nux and the way he flinched away...](http://mazarinedrake.tumblr.com/post/124619786465/mugsandpugs-warboyheadcanons-nuxtreme-why%22)


End file.
